Marked By Two Fates

Chapter Seven

Nicholas

The office is too quiet for a Thursday morning.

Not the calm kind of quiet, but the type that feels like the air is holding its breath. My inbox has exploded overnight—emails stamped 'urgent', 'immediate', 'need confirmation now' in every subject line. The moment I click open the first message, my stomach sinks.

Perfect. Exactly what I didn’t need today.

I scroll, jaw ticking as the problem expands with each bullet point:

Project Helios, the department’s most time-sensitive initiative, has hit a catastrophic snag. A partner division mishandled a core data transfer, which means our entire model might be compromised. If the numbers leaked are accurate, we’re facing potentially millions in misallocated resources.

My eyebrows lift.

Fantastic. A whole week’s worth of progress gone before nine a.m.

I stand, grab the folder, and walk out to the bullpen.

“Emergency meeting,” I announce, voice carrying across the floor. “Conference Room A. Now.”

Chairs scrape back. People scramble.

Alexandra looks up from her desk, sapphire eyes wide, curiosity flickering immediately across her features. She’s only been here two weeks, but there’s something about her that stays alert to every shift in the room—like she’s reading the atmosphere for clues. She rises quickly and follows the queue toward the conference room.

She takes a seat near the middle. I set my folder on the table, hook a finger under my collar, and get straight to it.

“All right. We have a crisis.”

A collective inhale ripples over the table.

“Project Helios’s data framework was corrupted sometime between last night and this morning. We don’t know whether it was negligence or a technical fault, but the result is the same: our projections are unusable in their current form.”

A few groans. Someone mutters a quiet curse under their breath.

I continue. “That means the entire department will be working overtime until this is resolved. All hands. Including our newest member.”

I look directly at Alexandra.

Her spine straightens. She nods once, composed but unmistakably intrigued by the whole unfolding disaster. “Understood. I’ll do my best,” she says.

And I believe her—more than I should.

“Good,” I reply. “Because everyone here is responsible for fixing this. No exceptions.”

I dismiss the team, and people scatter to their stations, already half-panicked and caffeinating themselves aggressively.

I return to my office, close the door behind me, and exhale a long breath.

It’s not just the crisis.

It’s today.

I drop into my chair and rub the bridge of my nose. I’d hoped burying myself in work would keep me from noticing the date, but the universe seems determined to shove it in my face anyway.

And then my phone buzzes.

I almost don’t look.

Almost.

But habit wins.

The message preview freezes my hand mid-air.

Dad: I know what today is. Wherever you are… I hope you’re doing all right.

I stare at the screen until the words blur.

The first message from him in months—and it has to be this one.

A muscle jumps in my jaw. I set the phone face-down and shove it away.

Two years.

Two years since I walked out of the house.

Two years of climbing through Kane Holdings from the bottom up, pushing past every obstacle, every interview, every department head who thought I wouldn’t last.

Two years of keeping my head down and my intentions hidden.

I should be satisfied with my progress.

I’ve risen fast—faster than anyone expected. But not fast enough.

Not for what I came here to do.

I swivel my chair toward the window. Asterion City stretches beyond the glass, tall and bright, humming with a life that used to feel foreign. When I first arrived here, I didn’t know a soul. I’d intended to keep it that way… until Dimitri bulldozed himself back into my life with his ridiculous loyalty and refusal to let me brood alone.

He, at least, isn’t part of today’s mess.

I glance again at the stack of reports tied to the Helios crisis. Work. Focus on the work.

My fingers tighten around the pen, and something else swims up in my thoughts—uninvited.

A memory.

Saturday night.

The woman with the sapphire eyes.

Alexandra.

I didn’t expect her to walk into my department two days later. I didn’t expect her to look the same—bright, inquisitive, disarming. And I definitely didn’t expect her to keep surprising me.

Like now, during this crisis. I’ve caught her glancing at the documents with that sharp, quietly calculating look she gets when she’s trying to solve something. She may be new, but she’s not here to coast.

It’s… inconvenient how easy she is to think about.

I push the thought away and return to the spreadsheets.

Hours drag. My brain crawls through line after line of corrupted data until the numbers blur together. The anniversary presses on my ribs like a weight, making it harder to breathe.

I’m halfway through recalculating the model when someone knocks.

“Come in,” I say without looking up.

The door opens, and footsteps approach my desk.

Then her voice:

“Mr. Carter? I think I found something.”

My head lifts automatically.

Alexandra stands there holding a folder, cheeks faintly flushed from speed-walking. There’s an energy around her—nervous but determined.

“All right,” I say, gesturing for her to come closer. “Show me.”

She sets the folder in front of me and begins explaining her idea: a way to cross-reference earlier backups with unused projection drafts, eliminating the corrupted sections by rebuilding the frameworks from an earlier stable point. It’s… creative. And surprisingly thorough for something she put together in only a few hours.

I flip through the pages, my eyebrows slowly lifting.

This could work. No—this will work.

“You did this yourself?” I ask.

She nods. “I double-checked the numbers, but I’m completely open to corrections.”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing to correct.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Alexandra,” I say, looking up at her fully, “this solution doesn’t just salvage the project. It prevents the same issue from happening again.”

A slow smile spreads across her face.

Something warm flickers unexpectedly in my chest.

I stand, grab the folder, and head to the bullpen. “Listen up,” I call out.

Everyone looks over immediately.

“We’re using Alexandra’s restructuring model. It corrects the data corruption and stabilizes Helios’s predictive framework.”

A ripple goes through the team—surprise, relief, admiration.

“Does this mean we’re not working overtime?” Someone asks tentatively.

“No overtime,” I confirm. “We’ll finalize the last pieces tomorrow. Go home.”

A cheer rises from the room. People start praising Alexandra, clapping her on the shoulder as she tries—unsuccessfully—to downplay her role.

As I watch her, something settles inside me.

Because of her, I won’t have to choose between work and visiting my mother’s grave today.

I slip out while the others are still celebrating.

---

The cemetery is quiet when I arrive. Late afternoon light filters through the trees, softening the harsh edges of the world. I walk the familiar path to the small stone marker etched with my mother’s name.

Two years, and it still hasn’t gotten easier.

I crouch, brushing fallen leaves from the base of the headstone.

“Hey, Mom,” I murmur. My voice sounds rough in the still air. “I made it this year.”

I exhale slowly.

“I almost didn’t. Work is… complicated. But one of my employees came up with something brilliant and saved the entire department from collapsing today.”

Sapphire eyes flash through my mind. Her determined face as she presented her solution.

“Her name’s Alexandra,” I add quietly. “She’s… unusual.”

I don’t elaborate. I don’t know how to.

I stay there for a few minutes, letting the silence settle around me like a blanket.

Then I hear footsteps behind me.

I straighten, shoulders tensing instantly. Only one other person could be visiting mother's grave today.

He stops beside me but keeps his distance.

“I wondered if you’d come today,” he says softly.

My chest constricts. I stand, brushing off my slacks, already searching for the exit route.

“I was just leaving.”

“Nicholas.”

His tone isn’t demanding—just tired.

Tired in a way that digs under my ribs.

But I can’t do this. Not today.

“I don’t want to talk,” I mutter, taking a step back.

He follows with his eyes rather than his feet. “I’m not here to argue. I just want to know one thing.”

I clench my jaw.

“When are you coming home?” he asks. “You’re my heir. I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

The cemetery feels suddenly colder.

I inhale through my nose, steady and sharp. “I’m not coming back.”

“Nicholas- ”

“Not until I finish what you refused to do.”

My voice slices the air, low and final.

He freezes.

I don’t wait for his reply.

I turn and walk away.

His silence follows me all the way down the path- but not once does he try to stop me.